


Iridescent

by Jya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst With A Side of Angst, Crying, Fluff, Injury, Oikawa Tooru Wears Glasses, OikawaAngstFest2k16, Self-Harm, breakdowns, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jya/pseuds/Jya
Summary: After losing to Karasuno, Oikawa feels the bitter sting of defeat. He never wanted help, because help meant losing control.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is seriously angsty, friends. If you are easily triggered, exercise proceed with caution.   
> I apologize if it's rough. I just kind of threw this together one night and decided to finally post.

“We did our best, just remember that.” Oikawa said, his head swimming and his neck muscles aching. “Thank you all for your loyalty and for a great season.”

“Thank you!” They all said with attempted enthusiasm. He knew they all felt just as terrible as him.

Unable to force the muscles in his neck to maintain their posture any longer, he dropped his head in a bow, and then turned away.

Oikawa let out a quiet sigh, releasing the tension from his shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been carrying. Though he hated to admit it to himself, it was likely a result of his interaction with Ushijima. He bit his lip hard and mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t out of sight yet. He couldn’t let himself become visibly shaken.

“Oikawa.”

He turned in the direction of the calm and collected voice. Of course it was Iwaizumi. He looked up at the Ace, knowing that he didn’t need to ask to get a response. His energy was wearing thin, and he was sure Iwaizumi could see it.

“Need a ride home?” He asked, flicking his key ring around his fingers.

“No thanks, Iwa-chan. I’m going to walk. Clear my head.” He forced a smile.

Iwaizumi studied him momentarily, but obviously decided to back down. He nodded and turned away. “Get home safe.”

“You too, Iwa-chan,” he replied, forcing the last of his strength into a smile that he knew would carry through his words. The last thing he needed was Iwaizumi worrying more than he already was.

He hung around casually as each of his teammates found their way out of the parking lot. Some picked up by parents, others catching the bus or driving themselves home. The last person to leave was Iwaizumi, who sat suspiciously watching Oikawa in his car. Oikawa knew he was there, but avoided eye contact as long as possible. Finally when everyone else was gone, he gave Iwaizumi one last wave, wink and a smile before turning in the direction of his house.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, but fully maintained his posture and neutral facial expression until finally the black civic slowly passed him. Oikawa watched the familiar car he’d ridden in so many times fade away into the distance before he finally stopped, released yet another deep sigh, and let himself go.

He felt his shoulders sag, his posture slouch and he began to favor his bad knee. He knew the long walk home would be agonizing but he didn’t care. He felt himself go numb not only to the cold, but the world around him. He even pulled his track jacket off and stuffed it in his duffel bag, feeling the sting of the cold against his bare arms. He pulled the strap tighter across his chest and carried on home.

_I won’t cry._

_Not yet._

_Keep it together._

He told himself over and over again. But he couldn’t keep it together. He cried almost the entire way home. He cried as he unlocked the door, as he entered the empty apartment. He cried as he stripped off his damp clothing, and as he pulled his contacts out of his burning eyes, and he cried as he climbed into the shower, turning the water to freezing cold.

Anything, anything to stop the sting of defeat. Even the ice cold water couldn’t wash it away.

It wasn’t long before his right knee finally gave out, and he fell, back against the wall, and slid down to the ground. Frankly, he was surprised it had held out all the way home. He had fully envisioned himself collapsing on the side of the road and simply sitting there stubbornly until he could walk again.

But even that pain wasn’t enough. His mind raced, and over and over he saw the ball hit the court, the end of his high school career. The end of his dreams of nationals. The end of his dreams of getting even with Ushijima. And the worst part was that he’d lost to Kageyama Tobio. All those years spent training to overcome him seemed completely lost. The award he’d won, insignificant and forgotten.

The dark haired blue-eyed boy’s face flashed in front of him again, and he cried out loudly, slamming his fist into the wall. The cry lasted for what felt like at least 25 seconds, until he finally ran out of oxygen.

Gasping for breath, his throat now raw, he felt himself calming down finally. He shook out his aching right hand, and pulled himself to his feet, balancing his weight on his good leg.

Once finished in the shower, he dragged himself in front of the mirror. His hair was flat and dripping wet, his eyes were bloodshot, his knuckles were bruising, and his right leg could barely support his weight.

There was no way he was getting his contacts back in his eyes, it was amazing he hadn’t cried them out on the way home. Grudgingly, he pulled his glasses case out from the bottom of the drawer and pushed the lenses up his nose. He hated his glasses, and he refused to let anyone see him in them. But it didn’t matter now, there was no one around but him, and he could hardly look at himself as it was.

And then the tears came again. He couldn’t stop them.

He clenched the edge of the sink tightly, his bruised knuckles protesting profusely, and he let his tears fall into the sink.

It hurt so badly.

Volleyball was his world, and he had built that team around him for three years, bringing everyone to their full potential, making the team the best it could be. And yet in the end, it had been him that failed. He was there, and yet he’d failed to make the receive.

You win or lose as a team. He knew that well. But he also knew he was their team’s pillar. And no matter how they lost, it would be on him.

And now not only could they never move forward together, they would never get to play as a team again. It was over. Done. Past.

Eyes clenched shut, he breathed heavily, feeling the huge lump in his throat threatening to escape in the form of wracked sobs again.

He couldn’t stand it. It was all so out of his hands.

Choking on a strangled sob he barely managed to keep at bay, he pulled open the bottom cupboard and dug to the back of it, somewhere along the way losing his footing and falling to the floor.

It had been so long. So long since this had even been an option.

He pulled the small, empty box of q-tips from the beneath the spare boxes of toothpaste and other toiletries. The perfect hiding place.

From inside the box he pulled the small, sparkling razor blade, and without a second though, he pressed it against his left forearm.

The relief was nearly instant. Along side the burst of pain came a rush of… of what? He didn’t know. But it was as though something swept through his body and lubricated every joint and released all the tension before flooding his mind, sweeping all of the painful emotions into a pile before washing them out in his tears that came steadily, but calmly and quietly now.

Twice more he pressed the blade to his skin. Twice more the crimson waves spilled from his arm and hit the floor. He leaned back against the cabinet, letting his head fall backwards and breathed deeply, but slowly.

The pain was still there, but it felt distant. As though it’s source occurred months ago.

He was numb.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, simply listening to himself breathe, feeling the burning in his forearm. His eyelids felt heavy and his mind felt completely disoriented, as though all of the emotions he had been trying to feel had simply given up, but they were still floating around somewhere near by.

By the time he looked down the blood had stopped oozing from his arm, but he was greeted with three angry, inflamed red lines as well as a big mess on the floor. It didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t be wearing a volleyball uniform for some time.

Forcing his arms to function, he pulled a box of tissues down from the counter and wiped up as much as he could, then reached up for the tap to soak another handful before cleaning up the mess.

Finally, he dragged himself off the floor and leaned over the counter once again. This time he was apathetic to the half closed, red, puffy eyes staring back at him behind dark framed glasses hanging half way down his nose. He didn’t care.

He rinsed his arm clean and blotted it dry with more tissues before flushing all the evidence down the toilet. He lived alone, but somehow he was still paranoid that someone would find out. Finally, he stashed his weapon away in the back of the drawer and headed out of the bathroom.

He quickly found that his knee was much worse now that he’d been off of it for a while. It had swollen profusely, and his journey back to his bedroom became more of a hop than a walk.

Once there, he pulled on a clean pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved black t-shirt he’d got from a tournament a couple years ago. He wasn’t about to risk staining anything should the cuts decide to start bleeding again. He was careful with the way he bent his wrist, knowing that any overextension would cause the wounds to open again.

It had been so long, he reflected as he dragged himself back into his living room. He pulled his water bottle out of his volleyball bag and threw himself on the couch. The last time he’d cut himself was nearly two years ago when he’d first injured his knee. He knew he couldn’t walk around with cuts all over his arm, but having been out nearly three months, he had an excuse to wear long sleeves. Once he’d been cleared for workouts, he grew frustrated with his progress, and tried cutting his shoulder and his legs, but nowhere else seemed to have the same effect as his arm. Finally he managed to convince himself he didn’t need it, and while it often crossed his mind when he was struggling, he had a good reason not to.

Now the season was officially over. That combined with the fact that he could hardly walk meant he wouldn’t be playing much volleyball anytime soon.

He stared at the ceiling, sipping form his water bottle. A part of him hated himself for doing it. He’d been good for so long, only to fall apart now. But another part of him knew how well it worked. When his mind was completely overwhelmed and he felt like he was losing all control, it brought him back to earth.

Suddenly there was a knock at his sliding glass door.

He lived on the second floor.

He sat there silently, staring at the curtains covering the large window.

What the heck?

“Shittykawa! Open the door! I know you’re in there!”

“Iwa-chan?” He asked quietly, his voice hoarse.

The knock came again.

He hesitantly pulled himself off the couch, rolling his sleeves down over this knuckles before slowly making his way to the door. He pushed aside the blinds to find Iwaizumi standing there, looking annoyed. He was still fully clad in his team tracksuit with his duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, intentionally keeping his body in the way.

“Iwa-chan, what are you doing here? And how did you get up here?” He cleared his throat, but he knew all the evidence necessary to deduce his breakdown was clearly displayed on his face.

“How do you think?” Iwaizumi said. “And you weren’t answering your phone.”

“This could be considered trespassing you know. And it’s still in my bag,” Oikawa said, forcing a grin.

“Nice glasses,” Iwaizumi said, nodding at him. “Can I come in?”

Oikawa pressed his lips together tightly and bit his bottom lip. Finally he stepped aside and allowed Oikawa passage.

“You alright?” Iwaizumi asked. But he didn’t need to wait for an answer.

Oikawa limped heavily, wincing as he closed the door, and as usual, Iwaizumi noticed immediately.

“Your knee…”

“Yeah,” Oikawa muttered, finding his way back to the couch.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough,” he said, averting his attention to his hands in his lap.

“What happened?”

“I fell on it when I dove for that toss,” he admitted. Of course Iwaizumi hadn’t seen it, he’d been too busy going for the spike. He chose not to share the fact that it had been bothering him even before that. He knew he was going to get scolded as it was.

“And you walked home on it?! Are you stupid?”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Iwaizumi said angrily, opening the freezer door and retrieving an ice pack. He folded the kitchen towel around it and tossed it to Oikawa.

“Ok, mother,” Oikawa responded, but his joke was so half hearted he wished he hadn’t even said it. He rolled up his pants and pressed the ice against his knee.

“I’m serious, Oikawa! You’re graduating next month!” Oikawa flinched. The fact that Iwaizumi had called him by his actual name rather than one of his many nicknames made the impact that much harder.

“What does it matter?! The season is over!” Oikawa retorted, much louder than he probably needed to.

“That doesn’t mean your life is over! There will be more volleyball! But if you don’t learn to care for yourself physically then you might not be on the court!”

That was all it took. Eyes that he thought were completely dried out began to tear up once more, and he buried his head in his hands, knowing he couldn’t hide it. He couldn’t handle this right now.

He felt the couch dip as Iwaizumi sat down next to him, and heard the quiet sigh that escaped his lips before he felt arms around him, pulling him against his friend’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Oikawa continued to sob, but this time into his friends shoulder. Iwaizumi leaned back from him momentarily, pulling his glasses off his face and setting them on the table, then wrapped his arms around him tighter, holding him reassuringly as he cried.

He felt so pathetic, but he couldn’t stop the tears, and he knew that pushing Iwaizumi away wouldn’t solve anything. He hadn’t cried in front of him in years, though he’d been close before.

Everything was such a mess. _He_ was such a mess.

He wished he could just crawl into a hole and die. Better yet, he wished he could pinch himself and wake up from this nightmare.

The game had been a disaster, and what followed had been worse. He felt like such an idiot. It was all so preventable. All of it.

“You ok?” Iwaizumi asked as his sobbing began to slow.

He pulled back, smelling a strange scent on his friend.

“Have you been drinking?” Oikawa asked. His voice sounded terrible.

“Maybe a little,” Iwaizumi replied.

Oikawa pulled himself up to face level with Iwaizumi. He couldn’t see well without his glasses, but he could see clearly enough that his cheeks were flushed from booze. He knew Iwaizumi had a weakness for alcohol, and it bothered him when his friend did it. He didn’t really have an excuse for why he didn’t like it, but in this case, he knew he’d turned to it to overcome the emotional pain. But then, who was he to talk? Still, he felt he needed to say something. “But you – ”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t drink a lot, and I didn’t drive.” Iwaizumi assured him.

He decided to drop it. “So what brought you here?” Oikawa asked, slowly beginning to regain his composure.

“I was worried about you. And you weren’t answering my texts.” Iwaizumi replied, turning his head away. “Maybe I get irrational when I drink.” He paused, obviously considering what he was going to say next. “Was it irrational?”

Oikawa looked back at him, then turned away. “No. Thanks for coming.” He said.

“How much pain are you in right now?” He asked. “I mean physically.”

_Not enough_ , was the first thing that entered his mind. He still felt the emotional agony. As for his knee, he hadn’t really thought about how much it hurt, having been so focused on the mental pain. The physical pain was almost welcomed in addition to the cuts on his arm. He flexed his knee and felt the burn spread up and down his leg. It wasn’t good. If he had any more games to play, he’d be seriously worried. It was kind of a relief to know that he didn’t need to care.

“It’s ok if I’m not moving it,” he said, knowing the expression on his face probably betrayed his words.

“Can you walk on it?”

“Not well,” he replied, this time honestly.

“Have you eaten?” Iwaizumi asked, leaning back, crouching on the floor before handing Oikawa his glasses back.

“No,” he said, wiping his eyes once more on his sleeve before pushing his glasses on.

Iwaizumi made a quick, swift movement, scooping Oikawa up bridal style before straightening his back and standing up.

“Wha?” Oikawa said, quickly grabbing his sleeve to make sure his arm remained covered.

Iwaizumi didn’t reply, but headed for the kitchen where he carefully set Oikawa down on the kitchen counter next to the stove. Without another word, he pulled a frying pan out of drawer below the oven and set it on the stove.

“What are you making?” He asked.

“I’m not sure,” Iwaizumi said, returning to the couch to retrieve the ice pack. “What have you got?” He handed him the compress, and Oikawa pressed it back to his knee.

“Probably not much. I’ve been a bit sidetracked this week.”

“What have you been eating?”

“Ummmm…..” Oikawa pondered. Truth be told he hadn’t been eating much. He knew if he said he’d been living off of energy bars, Iwaizumi would probably freak out.

But he simply sighed and opened the fridge.

“Can I use this?” He asked, pulling out a pack of beef.

“Sure.” Oikawa replied. “I think there are some noodles back there as well.”

Iwaizumi pulled out the pack of fresh noodles as well as an onion and a couple of carrots from the bottom crisper drawer. He fished out a knife from the dish drying rack and began chopping.

“Do you still have crutches from the last time?” He asked.

“They’re at my parents’ house,” Oikawa replied sullenly.

“I’ll go get them tomorrow if you still can’t walk properly.”

“They’d probably bring them to me if I asked them to.”

Oikawa sat quietly and watched while Iwaizumi prepared the meal of noodles, beef and julienned carrots and onion. As usual, his seasoning and sauces were on point, and Oikawa managed to eat almost an entire plate, which was more than he could have said he’d expected.

Oikawa remained seated on the counter throughout the entire meal preparation, the meal itself, and while Iwaizumi as doing the dishes.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Oikawa insisted. “I can wash the dishes later.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to be standing anymore than necessary. Hey, I think you’re bleeding,” Iwaizumi said unexpectedly, pointing to Oikawa’s left hand which clutched the edge of the counter tightly.

He glanced down instinctively at his hand, only to be blindsided with the realization of what Iwaizumi was seeing. Worst of all, he couldn’t even bolt for the bathroom in his current state.

He wanted to burst into tears. There was no way out.

“Could you pass me a paper towel?” He asked, hearing the shakiness in his own voice. What else could he do? If he was lucky, Iwaizumi would forget about it quickly.

But he didn’t. “That’s some pretty thick blood,” he replied, handing over the paper towel. “What happened?”

If there was any suspicion in his voice, Oikawa couldn’t hear it. He held the paper towel to his wrist in a way that wouldn’t push his sleeve up, only to realize that said sleeve was basically drenched in blood.

Iwaizumi realized it too.

“Holy crap, are you ok?”

“Shit,” he whispered, jumping down off the counter. Unfortunately his knee had other plans. He’d been off of it for too long, and it wasn’t able to hold him at all anymore.

“Idiot! What are you doing?” Iwaizumi demanded, catching him before he fell. But he was caught off guard when he found Oikawa’s eyes filled with tears.

Oikawa wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t ready for anyone else to know. He cursed himself for not taking care of it earlier. He cursed himself for cutting so deep. One cut he might have been able to write off as a paper cut, but not the mess he’d made. Aside from that, as soon as Iwaizumi looked close enough he’d see the scars.

“Tooru, what the heck is wrong?” He asked, his voice carrying none of its earlier malevolence. It consisted of pure concern.

He couldn’t even respond, the tears were coming too quickly now, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he was sobbing out of control.

Iwaizumi could obviously see it too. He abandoned his quest to figure out what was wrong, and instead he pulled Oikawa closer to him, wrapping his arms around his upper body and tucking Oikawa’s head under his chin.

And to Oikawa’s surprise, the floodgates didn’t open. The tears kept coming, but he was quiet, and he managed to clench Iwaizumi’s arm in his right hand, not wanting his left arm to bleed all over his friend.

“Come on. We need to clean that up,” Iwaizumi said soothingly, still holding him tight.

Oikawa sniffled, feeling his body tense up again. He was shaking uncontrollably. Cleaning it up meant Iwaizumi would see it.

But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t just tell his friend to forget about it. The suspicion would only increase. There was no getting out of this now.

Finally, he simply nodded.

Iwaizumi adjusted his position, and with a strength Oikawa didn’t know he had, he dead lifted him off the floor and up into his arms before carrying him to the bathroom. He deposited him on the bathroom counter, where Oikawa let his body fall loosely against the wall.

This was his worst nightmare.

“Can I see?” Iwaizumi asked. Now there was hesitation in his voice. Oikawa knew why though. This was out of character for him.

Oikawa closed his eyes, refusing to make eye contact with his best friend. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. _Just get it over with,_ he told himself. Finally, he offered up his left arm. Iwaizumi took it, and even out of the corner of his diverted glance, he could see the frown on his friend’s face.

“Hang on,” he said, gently putting Oikawa’s arm down and exiting the bathroom. He returned less than a minute later with a clean grey t-shirt and handed it to him. Iwaizumi then turned around and waited for him to change.

Oikawa carefully pulled the long sleeve off, trying to be careful with his blood soaked sleeve. This really was gross and unsanitary. He cringed as he got a look at his arm. The cuts were swollen and still bleeding slowly. His whole arm was a mess. He attempted to wipe away as much of the excess blood as possibly before balling the shirt up and tossing it on the floor. Finally he pulled the clean one over his head and Iwaizumi turned around.

Oikawa watched, taking in his friend’s reaction as his deepest, darkest secret was revealed. It broke his heart to see the expression on Iwaizumi’s face. He could tell he was trying to subdue his response, but his friend’s face was a mix of pain, pity, confusion, and disappointment. It made Oikawa cry harder. He hated the fact that he had dragged his friend into this.

Seeing this, Iwaizumi quickly wrapped his arms around him again, hushing him. “Shhh, it’s ok,” he whispered.

“No it’s not,” Oikawa whimpered.

“Shh, yes it is,” Iwaizumi said, more confidence in his voice this time. He hugged him tightly, his hand on the back of his neck. “I’m going to clean this up, ok?”

Oikawa nodded.

Iwaizumi gave his left shoulder a tight squeeze before pulling back, dragging his hand down Oikawa’s arm and taking another quick look at his forearm. He surveyed the damage again and set his arm down in his lap, digging for the first aid kit under the sink.

Oikawa watched the way Iwaizumi’s brows knit themselves with concentration as he cleaned the wounds with antiseptic wipes. He worked with a kind of delicacy that Oikawa didn’t know he had, washing away the blood, but making sure he didn’t aggravate the edges of the cuts.

They were not longer bleeding profusely, but they didn’t seem to want to stop seeping blood. Iwaizumi seemed to have the answer to that as he pulled out several small butterfly bandages. Oikawa watched curiously as he used them to expertly pull each of the cuts together. Once satisfied, he pulled out the roll of gauze, the dreaded roll of gauze. Oikawa had had to use it before, and he hated the way it made him look suicidal. Iwaizumi wound the bandages up his arm, covering the cuts completely and taped it off at the end. Finally he looked up at Oikawa.

“Thanks,” Oikawa whispered, pulling his arm against his chest, tears still stinging at his eyes.

Iwaizumi nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t choose his words.

Oikawa wanted to ask for a long sleeved shirt or a sweater or something to cover his arms, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hated seeing the bandage. The cuts were one thing, but the bandage somehow labeled the bad parts of it: the fact that it was indeed destructive and potentially harmful, and the fact that someone else had seen it. He had always been so careful with hiding it. The only reason he could come up with for his slippage this time was that Iwaizumi had caught him while he was still in the midst of a breakdown.

“Do you want to go back to the living room?” Iwaizumi asked, his voice a bit shaky.

Oikawa wondered if his friend was holding back tears of his own. He didn’t think he would be able to handle it if Iwaizumi broke down too. His best friend had always been his rock. They bickered a lot and fooled around, but no one took care of him like Iwaizumi. No one understood him as well. And most of all, no one cared like he did. No matter what happened, he was always there to pick him back up.

Literally, in this case. Iwaizumi didn’t wait for an answer, he simply plucked Oikawa off the counter and carried him back to the couch. He deposited him against the cool material, then turned back to the kitchen where he drained the sink and retrieved an ice pack again from the freezer.

Oikawa had nearly forgotten about the pain in his knee. He knew it wouldn’t support him, but the pain didn’t bother him much. His whole body and mind were numb.

Oikawa pressed the cold pack against his leg again. He was fairly certain that Iwaizumi was purposely avoiding his gaze. “Why?” Iwaizumi said, sounding as though he was out of breath. The look of pain clear in Iwaizumi’s eyes broke him.

He couldn’t talk. He had no response. Instead he simply pulled his legs against his chest, and buried his head in his knees, his glasses riding up onto the crown of his head. He sobbed hard into his legs, and felt strong arms wrap themselves around his body, as though he were a child.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, unsure if his words were even discernable.

“I don’t know how to help you,” Iwaizumi said. Oikawa could hear the tears in his friend’s trembling voice now.

He choked on his own sobs. “It isn’t your job to take care of me,” He managed.

Iwaizumi pulled back from him, locking his eyes on Oikawa’s.

“Of course it is! You’re my best friend!” He wailed.

It killed him to see the tears in Iwaizumi’s eyes. It killed him to know he caused them. His own pain was one thing, and it was something he could handle. There was always a way to get himself under control. But this… Iwaizumi’s pain was out of his hands.

When he’d started hurting himself, it was a way for him to deal with his own emotions and feelings. It was a way for him to combat the mental hurt. It made him feel like he had control over his own life, like he always had something to fall back on. It was a simple equation, one that provided him with a kind of emotional security. But he’d never considered these variables. He could carry this burden himself, but the possibility of someone else knowing, and the variable of their pain… it was something that threw the entire equilibrium off.

In short, he’d been blindsided. He could deal with his own pain. It had always been present, and it hurt, but he could deal with it. But he hadn’t anticipated this. And there was nothing he could do about this.

“You were never supposed to find out,” Oikawa whispered into his friend’s shoulder. His voice steadied, and his breathing became less erratic.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi began. He took a deep breath, before revealing, “I’ve always known.”

He could have sworn his heart stopped. He felt his entire body go rigid, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt like he’d just been smacked in the face. He’d never felt a worse single feeling in his entire life. Not the even the feeling of his knee breaking could compare.

Finally his body reminded him that it required oxygen, and he gasped for air, nearly choking in the process. Iwaizumi pulled him back to arms length, shaking him, patting his back, before finally jumping off the couch to get his water bottle.

“Can you breathe?” Iwaizumi demanded.

“How?” Oikawa demanded between choked gasps for air.

“Through your nose or mouth? I don’t know! How else do you breathe?!”

“How did you know?” He meant for it to come out louder, but his voice lacked conviction, not to mention the fact that he could still hardly supply his lungs with oxygen.

Iwaizumi sighed and leaned back against the couch, apparently satisfied that Oikawa wasn’t dying.

Oikawa simply stared at him with desperate, teary eyes.

Iwaizumi looked back, his brows knit with concern until finally he couldn’t stand it. “I don’t know, I’ve spent every day of my life with you for as long as I can remember. Something was just different after you got hurt.”

“What do you mean different?”

“You were just like… detached or something. It was like you’d withdrawn within yourself. And then all of a sudden you’re wearing long sleeved shirts every day. I knew something was going on.”

Oikawa didn’t say anything. He turned his head away, cursing himself for being so obvious. He didn’t think anyone in his life was watching him that closely. It made him feel exposed.

“I saw the cuts one night when you slept over,” Iwaizumi said in a hushed voice. “That was how I knew for sure.”

“Fuck.”

“I wanted to say something, but I had no idea what to say,” Iwaizumi said, the tears once again audible in his words. “I felt like the worst friend ever. I knew you had a problem but I had no idea how to help!”

“I’m so sorry Hajime,” Oikawa said. Iwaizumi visibly flinched at the sound of his first name. “I never wanted you to know.”

“I wanted you to tell me. I didn’t want to corner you and confront you about it.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t. I know it was your burden to bear. And when you were ready to tell me, you would have.”

“I guess we’ll never know if I would have made it to that,” Oikawa said. “But for the record, it’s been a long time since I did it.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa turned his head away, feeling very exposed. He pulled is glasses back down onto his nose, then looked his friend clearly in the eye.

“What can I do?” Iwaizumi said softly.

“I don’t know,” Oikawa whispered, looking down once more.

“Will you let me help?”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know how to make you stop completely, but the only thing I can think of is to address whatever the source is. Can you just try to talk to me rather than reverting in on yourself?”

Oikawa thought about this. It was so much easier to withdraw and not involve anyone else with his problems. Sure he had talked to Iwaizumi in the past, but not about anything he felt that he couldn’t control. It scared him that someone else might tell him that his problem was hopeless, or worse, tell him that his problem was in fact, a major problem, or that there was something wrong with him.

“Can you start by telling me what happened tonight? Or rather, can I guess?”

“Sure,” Oikawa said distantly.

“The match, right? You’re upset because we lost. And you’re blaming yourself.”

“Of course I am. I’m the captain. I’m the foundation. And I’m the one who missed the last shot.”

“We’re a team, Tooru. What if I had made that spike you set me up so perfectly for? It’s equally as much my fault as yours. We win as a team and lose as a team.”

“I know what you’re saying, but I can’t help shouldering the blame.”

“I know. Because neither can I. Losing sucks, there’s no two ways about it. And it hurts and it burns, but it’s not worth hurting yourself over.”

Oikawa leaned back and stared at Iwaizumi. A tiny half smirk found its way across his features. “Where were you an hour ago…” he mumbled.

“Lost in my own self destructive tendencies,” Iwaizumi replied, half heartedly.

“We’re such a mess,” Oikawa said, leaning into his friend.

“It’s why we’re such good friends,” Iwaizumi replied, wrapping his arm around Oikawa. They stayed like that, both silent for several minutes.

Oikawa felt like he was starting to calm down when Iwaizumi pulled away.

“One sec,” he said. His voice sounded more composed as well.

He returned less than a minute later with a massive armful of blankets and pillows, depositing them on the couch beside Oikawa.

“Can you stand for a minute?” He asked, offering his hand.

Oikawa took it, and he balanced on his good leg while Iwaizumi pulled the futon out, effectively turning the couch into a bed. He then picked up the pile of blankets and threw them in the center.

“Are you making me a nest?” Oikawa asked.

“It always worked when you were a kid,” Iwaizumi said, a hint of a smile in his words.

Oikawa felt tears in his eyes again, but this time they were accompanied by a very foreign feeling smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered, crawling into the mess of blankets.


End file.
